Quentin Durward

“I remember,” said the King. “I have seen him swim a river at the risk of drowning, though there was a bridge to be found for riding two hundred yards.”

“True, Sire; and he that weighs not his life against the gratification of a moment of impetuous passion will, on the same impulse, prefer the gratification of his will to the increase of his substantial power.”

“Most true,” replied the King; “a fool will ever grasp rather at the appearance than the reality of authority. And this I know to be true of Charles of Burgundy. But, my dear friend De Comines, what do you infer from these premises?”

“Simply this, my lord,” answered the Burgundian, “that as your Majesty has seen a skilful angler control a large and heavy fish, and finally draw him to land by a single hair, which fish had broke through a tackle tenfold stronger, had the fisher presumed to strain the line on him, instead of giving him head enough for all his wild flourishes; even so your Majesty, by gratifying the Duke in these particulars on which he has pitched his ideas of honour, and the gratification of his revenge, may evade many of the other unpalatable propositions at which I have hinted; and which – including, I must state openly to your Majesty, some of those through which France would be most especially weakened – will slide out of his remembrance and attention, and, being referred to subsequent conferences and future discussion, may be altogether eluded.”

“I understand you, my good Sir Philip; but to the matter,” said the King. “To which of those happy propositions is your Duke so much wedded that contradiction will make him unreasonable and untractable?”

“To any or to all of them, if it please your Majesty, on which you may happen to contradict him. This is precisely what your Majesty must avoid; and to take up my former parable, you must needs remain on the watch, ready to give the Duke line enough whenever he shoots away under the impulse of his rage. His fury, already considerably abated, will waste itself if he be unopposed, and you will presently find him become more friendly and more tractable.”

“Still,” said the’ King, musing, “there must be some particular demands which lie deeper at my cousin’s heart than the other proposals. Were I but aware of these, Sir Philip.”

“Your Majesty may make the lightest of his demands the most important simply by opposing it,” said De Comines, “nevertheless, my lord, thus far I can say, that every shadow of treaty will be broken off, if your Majesty renounce not William de la Marck and the Liegeois.”

“I have already said that I will disown them,” said the King, “and well they deserve it at my hand; the villains have commenced their uproar at a moment that might have cost me my life.”

“He that fires a train of powder,” replied the historian, “must expect a speedy explosion of the mine. – But more than mere disavowal of their cause will be expected of your Majesty by Duke Charles, for know that he will demand your Majesty assistance to put the insurrection down, and your royal presence to witness the punishment which he destines for the rebels.”

“That may scarce consist with our honour, De Comines,” said the King.

“To refuse it will scarcely consist with your Majesty’s safety,” replied De Comines. “Charles is determined to show the people of Flanders that no hope, nay, no promise, of assistance from France will save them in their mutinies from the wrath and vengeance of Burgundy.”

“But, Sir Philip, I will speak plainly,” answered the King. “Could we but procrastinate the matter, might not these rogues of Liege make their own part good against Duke Charles? The knaves are numerous and steady. – Can they not hold out their town against him?”

“With the help of the thousand archers of France whom your Majesty promised them, they might have done something, but – ”

“Whom I promised them?” said the King. “Alas! good Sir Philip! you much wrong me in saying so.”

“But without whom,” continued De Comines, not heeding the interruption, “as your Majesty will not now likely find it convenient to supply them, what chance will the burghers have of making good their town, in whose walls the large breaches made by Charles after the battle of St. Tron are still unrepaired; so that the lances of Hainault, Brabant, and Burgundy may advance to the attack twenty men in front?”

“The improvident idiots!” said the King. “If they have thus neglected their own safety, they deserve not my protection. Pass on – I will make no quarrel for their sake.”

“The next point, I fear, will sit closer to your Majesty’s heart,” said De Comines.

“Ah!” replied the King, “you mean that infernal marriage! I will not consent to the breach of the contract betwixt my daughter Joan and my cousin of Orleans – it would be wresting the sceptre of France from me and my posterity; for that feeble boy, the Dauphin, is a blighted blossom, which will wither without fruit. This match between Joan and Orleans has been my thought by day, my dream by night. – I tell thee, Sir Philip, I cannot give it up! – Besides, it is inhuman to require me, with my own hand, to destroy at once my own scheme of policy, and the happiness of a pair brought up for each other.”

“Are they, then, so much attached?” said De Comines.

“One of them at least,” said the King, “and the one for whom I am bound to be most anxious. But you smile, Sir Philip – you are no believer in the force of love.”

“Nay,” said De Comines, “if it please you, Sire, I am so little an infidel in that particular that I was about to ask whether it would reconcile you in any degree to your acquiescing in the proposed marriage betwixt the Duke of Orleans and Isabelle de Croye, were I to satisfy you that the Countess’s inclinations are so much fixed on another, that it is likely it will never be a match?”

King Louis sighed. “Alas,” he said, “my good and dear friend, from what sepulchre have you drawn such dead comfort? Her inclinations, indeed! – Why, to speak truth, supposing that Orleans detested my daughter Joan, yet, but for this ill ravelled web of mischance, he must needs have married her; so you may conjecture how little chance there is of this damsel’s being able to refuse him under a similar compulsion, and he a Child of France besides. – Ah, no, Philip! little fear of her standing obstinate against the suit of such a lover. – Varium et mutabile [(semper femina): woman is always inconstant and capricious], Philip.”

“Your Majesty may, in the present instance, undervalue the obstinate courage of this young lady. She comes of a race determinately wilful; and I have picked out of Crevecoeur that she has formed a romantic attachment to a young squire, who, to say truth, rendered her many services on the road.”

“Ha!” said the King – “an Archer of my Guards, by name Quentin Durward?”

“The same, as I think,” said De Comines; “he was made prisoner along with the Countess, travelling almost alone together.”

“Now, our Lord and our Lady, and Monseigneur Saint Martin, and Monseigneur Saint Julian, be praised every one of them!” said the King, “and all laud and honour to the learned Galeotti; who read in the stars that this youth’s destiny was connected with mine! If the maiden be so attached to him as to make her refractory to the will of Burgundy, this Quentin hath indeed been rarely useful to me.”

“I believe, my lord,” answered the Burgundian, “according to Crevecoeur’s report, that there is some chance of her being sufficiently obstinate; besides, doubtless, the noble Duke himself, notwithstanding what your Majesty was pleased to hint in way of supposition, will not willingly renounce his fair cousin, to whom he has been long engaged.”

“Umph!” answered the King – “but you have never seen my daughter Joan. – A howlet, man! – an absolute owl, whom I am ashamed of! But let him be only a wise man, and marry her, I will give him leave to be mad par amours for the fairest lady in France. – And now, Philip, have you given me the full map of your master’s mind?”

“I have possessed you, Sire, of those particulars on which he is at present most disposed to insist. But your Majesty well knows that the Duke’s disposition is like a sweeping torrent, which only passes smoothly forward when its waves encounter no opposition; and what may be presented to chafe him info fury, it is impossible even to guess. Were more distinct evidence of your Majesty’s practices (pardon the phrase, when there is so little time for selection) with the Liegeois and William de la Marck to occur unexpectedly, the issue might be terrible. – There are strange news from that country – they say La Marck hath married Hameline, the elder Countess of Croye.”

“That old fool was so mad on marriage that she would have accepted the hand of Satan,” said the King; “but that La Marck, beast as he is, should have married her, rather more surprises me.”

“There is a report also,” continued De Comines, “that an envoy, or herald, on La Marck’s part, is approaching Peronne; this is like to drive the Duke frantic with rage – I trust that he has no letters or the like to show on your Majesty’s part?”

“Letters to a Wild Boar!” answered the King. – “No, no, Sir Philip, I was no such fool as to cast pearls before swine. – What little intercourse I had with the brute animal was by message, in which I always employed such low bred slaves and vagabonds that their evidence would not be received in a trial for robbing a hen roost.”

“I can then only further recommend,” said De Comines, taking his leave, “that your Majesty should remain on your guard, be guided by events, and, above all, avoid using any language or argument with the Duke which may better become your dignity than your present condition.”

“If my dignity,” said the King, “grow troublesome to me – which it seldom doth while there are deeper interests to think of – I have a special remedy for that swelling of the heart. – It is but looking into a certain ruinous closet, Sir Philip, and thinking of the death of Charles the Simple; and it cures me as effectually as the cold bath would cool a fever. – And now, my friend and monitor, must thou be gone? Well, Sir Philip, the time must come when thou wilt tire reading lessons of state policy to the Bull of Burgundy, who is incapable of comprehending your most simple argument. – If Louis of Valois then lives, thou hast a friend in the Court of France. I tell thee, my Philip, it would be a blessing to my kingdom should I ever acquire thee; who, with a profound view of subjects of state, hast also a conscience, capable of feeling and discerning between right and wrong. So help me our Lord and Lady, and Monseigneur Saint Martin, Oliver and Balue have hearts as hardened as the nether millstone; and my life is embittered by remorse and penances for the crimes they make me commit. Thou, Sir Philip, possessed of the wisdom of present and past times, canst teach how to become great without ceasing to be virtuous.”

“A hard task, and which few have attained,” said the historian; “but which is yet within the reach of princes who will strive for it. Meantime, Sire, be prepared, for the Duke will presently confer with you.”

Louis looked long after Philip when he left the apartment, and at length burst into a bitter laugh. “He spoke of fishing – I have sent him home, a trout properly tickled! – And he thinks himself virtuous because he took no bribe, but contented himself with flattery and promises, and the pleasure of avenging an affront to his vanity! – Why, he is but so much the poorer for the refusal of the money – not a jot the more honest. He must be mine, though, for he hath the shrewdest head among them. Well, now for nobler game! I am to face this leviathan Charles, who will presently swim hitherward, cleaving the deep before him. I must, like a trembling sailor, throw a tub overboard to amuse him. But I may one day find the chance of driving a harpoon into his entrails!”

[If a ship is threatened by a school of whales, a tub is thrown into the sea to divert their attention. Hence to mislead an enemy, or to create a diversion in order to avoid a danger.]

[Scott says that during this interesting scene Comines first realized the great powers of Louis, and entertained from this time a partiality to France which allured him to Louis’s court in 1472. After the death of Louis he fell under the suspicion of that sovereign’s daughter and was imprisoned in one of the cages he has so feelingly described. He was subjected to trial and exiled from court, but was afterwards employed by Charles VIII in one or two important missions. He died at his Castle of Argenton in 1509, and was regretted as one of the most profound statesmen, and the best historian of his age.]

CHAPTER XXXI: THE INTERVIEW

Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. – Gentle maiden,Keep you your promise plight – leave age its subtleties,And gray hair’d policy its maze of falsehood,But be you candid as the morning sky,Ere the high sun sucks vapours up to stain it.THE TRIAL

On the perilous and important morning which preceded the meeting of the two Princes in the Castle of Peronne, Oliver le Dain did his master the service of an active and skilful agent, making interest for Louis in every quarter, both with presents and promises; so that when the Duke’s anger should blaze forth, all around should be interested to smother, and not to increase, the conflagration. He glided like night, from tent to tent, from house to house, making himself friends, but not in the Apostle’s sense, with the Mammon of unrighteousness. As was said of another active political agent, “his finger was in every man’s palm, his mouth was in every man’s ear;” and for various reasons, some of which we have formerly hinted at, he secured the favour of many Burgundian nobles, who either had something to hope or fear from France, or who thought that, were the power of Louis too much reduced, their own Duke would be likely to pursue the road to despotic authority, to which his heart naturally inclined him, with a daring and unopposed pace.

Where Oliver suspected his own presence or arguments might be less acceptable, he employed that of other servants of the King; and it was in this manner that he obtained, by the favour of the Count de Crevecoeur, an interview betwixt Lord Crawford, accompanied by Le Balafre, and Quentin Durward, who, since he had arrived at Peronne, had been detained in a sort of honourable confinement. Private affairs were assigned as the cause of requesting this meeting; but it is probable that Crevecoeur, who was afraid that his master might be stirred up in passion to do something dishonourably violent towards Louis, was not sorry to afford an opportunity to Crawford to give some hints to the young Archer, which might prove useful to his master.

The meeting between the countrymen was cordial and even affecting.

“Thou art a singular youth,” said Crawford, stroking the head of young Durward, as a grandsire might do that of his descendant. “Certes, you have had as meikle good fortune as if you had been born with a lucky hood on your head.”

“All comes of his gaining an Archer’s place at such early years,” said Le Balafre; “I never was so much talked of, fair nephew, because I was five and twenty years old before I was hors de page [passed out of the rank of the page].”

“And an ill looking mountainous monster of a page thou wert, Ludovic,” said the old commander, “with a beard like a baker’s shool, and a back like old Wallace Wight [so called because of his vigour and activity].”

“I fear,” said Quentin, with downcast eyes, “I shall enjoy that title to distinction but a short time – since it is my purpose to resign the service of the Archer Guard.”

Le Balafre was struck almost mute with astonishment, and Crawford’s ancient features gleamed with displeasure. The former at length mustered words enough to say, “Resign! – leave your place in the Scottish Archers! – such a thing was never dreamed of. I would not give up my situation to be made Constable of France.”

“Hush! Ludovic,” said Crawford; “this youngster knows better how to shape his course with the wind than we of the old world do. His journey hath given him some pretty tales to tell about King Louis; and he is turning Burgundian, that he may make his own little profit by telling them to Duke Charles.”

“If I thought so,” said Le Balafre, “I would cut his throat with my own hand, were he fifty times my sister’s son.”

“But you would first inquire whether I deserved to be so treated, fair kinsman?” answered Quentin; “and you, my lord, know that I am no tale bearer; nor shall either question or torture draw out of me a word to King Louis’s prejudice, which may have come to my knowledge while I was in his service. – So far my oath of duty keeps me silent. But I will not remain in that services in which, besides the perils of fair battle with mine enemies, I am to be exposed to the dangers of ambuscade on the part of my friends.”

“Nay, if he objects to lying in ambuscade,” said the slow witted Le Balafre, looking sorrowfully at the Lord Crawford, “I am afraid, my lord, that all is over with him! I myself have had thirty bushments break upon me, and truly I think I have laid in ambuscade twice as often myself, it being a favourite practice in our King’s mode of making war.”

“It is so indeed, Ludovic,” answered Lord Crawford; “nevertheless, hold your peace, for I believe I understand this gear better than you do.”

“I wish to Our Lady you may, my lord,” answered Ludovic; “but it wounds me to the very midriff, to think my sister’s son should fear an ambushment.”

“Young man,” said Crawford, “I partly guess your meaning. You have met foul play on the road where you travelled by the King’s command, and you think you have reason to charge him with being the author of it.”

“I have been threatened with foul play in the execution of the King’s commission,” answered Quentin; “but I have had the good fortune to elude it – whether his Majesty be innocent or guilty in the matter, I leave to God and his own conscience. He fed me when I was a-hungered – received me when I was a wandering stranger. I will never load him in his adversity with accusations which may indeed be unjust, since I heard them only from the vilest mouths.”

“My dear boy – my own lad!” said Crawford, taking him in his arms. – “Ye think like a Scot, every joint of you! Like one that will forget a cause of quarrel with a friend whose back is already at the wall, and remember nothing of him but his kindness.”

“Since my Lord Crawford has embraced my nephew,” said Ludovic Lesly, “I will embrace him also – though I would have you to know that to understand the service of an ambushment is as necessary to a soldier as it is to a priest to be able to read his breviary.”

“Be hushed, Ludovic,” said Crawford; “ye are an ass, my friend, and ken not the blessing Heaven has sent you in this braw callant. – And now tell me, Quentin, my man, hath the King any advice of this brave, Christian, and manly resolution of yours, for, poor man, he had need, in his strait, to ken what he has to reckon upon. Had he but brought the whole brigade of Guards with him! – But God’s will be done. – Kens he of your purpose, think you?”

“I really can hardly tell,” answered Quentin; “but I assured his learned Astrologer, Martius Galeotti, of my resolution to be silent on all that could injure the King with the Duke of Burgundy. The particulars which I suspect, I will not (under your favour) communicate even to your lordship; and to the philosopher I was, of course, far less willing to unfold myself.”

“Ha! – ay!” answered Lord Crawford. – “Oliver did indeed tell me that Galeotti prophesied most stoutly concerning the line of conduct you were to hold; and I am truly glad to find he did so on better authority than the stars.”

“He prophesy!” said Le Balafre, laughing; “the stars never told him that honest Ludovic Lesly used to help yonder wench of his to spend the fair ducats he flings into her lap.”

“Hush! Ludovic,” said his captain, “hush! thou beast, man! – If thou dost not respect my gray hairs, because I have been e’en too much of a routier myself, respect the boy’s youth and innocence, and let us have no more of such unbecoming daffing.”

“Your honour may say your pleasure,” answered’ Ludovic Lesly; “but, by my faith, second sighted Saunders Souplesaw, the town souter of Glen Houlakin, was worth Galeotti, or Gallipotty, or whatever ye call him, twice told, for a prophet. He foretold that all my sister’s children, would die some day; and he foretold it in the very hour that the youngest was born, and that is this lad Quentin – who, no doubt, will one day die, to make up the prophecy – the more’s the pity – the whole curney of them is gone but himself. And Saunders foretold to myself one day, that I should be made by marriage, which doubtless will also happen in due time, though it hath not yet come to pass – though how or when, I can hardly guess, as I care not myself for the wedded state, and Quentin is but a lad. Also, Saunders predicted – ”

“Nay,” said Lord Crawford, “unless the prediction be singularly to the purpose, I must cut you short, my good Ludovic; for both you and I must now leave your nephew, with prayers to Our Lady to strengthen him in the good mind he is in; for this is a case in which a light word might do more mischief than all the Parliament of Paris could mend. My blessing with you, my lad; and be in no hurry to think of leaving our body; for there will be good blows going presently in the eye of day, and no ambuscade.”

“And my blessing, too, nephew,” said Ludovic Lesly; “for, since you have satisfied our most noble captain, I also am satisfied, as in duty bound.”

“Stay, my lord,” said Quentin, and led Lord Crawford a little apart from his uncle. “I must not forget to mention that there is a person besides in the world, who, having learned from me these circumstances, which it is essential to King Louis’s safety should at present remain concealed, may not think that the same obligation of secrecy, which attaches to me as the King’s soldier, and as having been relieved by his bounty, is at all binding on her.”

“On her!” replied Crawford; “nay, if there be a woman in the secret, the Lord have mercy, for we are all on the rocks again!”

“Do not suppose so, my lord,” replied Durward, “but use your interest with the Count of Crevecoeur to permit me an interview with the Countess Isabelle of Croye, who is the party possessed of my secret, and I doubt not that I can persuade her to be as silent as I shall unquestionably myself remain, concerning whatever may incense the Duke against King Louis.”

The old soldier mused for a long time – looked up to the ceiling, then down again upon the floor – then shook his head – and at length said, “There is something in all this, which, by my honour, I do not understand. The Countess Isabelle of Croye! – an interview with a lady of her birth, blood, and possessions! – and thou a raw Scottish lad, so certain of carrying thy point with her? Thou art either strangely confident, my young friend, or else you have used your time well upon the journey. But, by the cross of Saint Andrew, I will move Crevecoeur in thy behalf; and, as he truly fears that Duke Charles may be provoked against the King to the extremity of falling foul, I think it likely he may grant thy request, though, by my honour, it is a comical one!”

So saying, and shrugging up his shoulders, the old Lord left the apartment, followed by Ludovic Lesly, who, forming his looks on those of his principal, endeavoured, though knowing nothing of the cause of his wonder, to look as mysterious and important as Crawford himself.

In a few minutes Crawford returned, but without his attendant, Le Balafre. The old man seemed in singular humour, laughing and chuckling to himself in a manner which strangely distorted his stern and rigid features, and at the same time shaking his head, as at something which he could not help condemning, while he found it irresistibly ludicrous. “My certes, countryman,” said he, “but you are not blate – you will never lose fair lady for faint heart! Crevecoeur swallowed your proposal as he would have done a cup of vinegar, and swore to me roundly, by all the saints in Burgundy, that were less than the honour of princes and the peace of kingdoms at stake, you should never see even so much as the print of the Countess Isabelle’s foot on the clay. Were it not that he had a dame, and a fair one, I would have thought that he meant to break a lance for the prize himself. Perhaps he thinks of his nephew, the County Stephen. A Countess! – would no less serve you to be minting at? – But come along – your interview with her must be brief. – But I fancy you know how to make the most of little time – ho! ho! ho! – By my faith, I can hardly chide thee for the presumption, I have such a good will to laugh at it!”